As Bai Ren expected, the fight didn't beco one where he dominated and defeated the Half-Qilin like many Righteous Cultivators had hoped.
Instead, it dragged on.
A brutal, grinding exchange where neither side could afford recklessness.
The Half-Qilin attacked again.
Its movents were still overwhelming—each step cracking the land, each swipe carrying enough force to shatter mountains—but it no longer advanced with the sa unchecked dominance as before.
Its eyes never left Bai Ren's sword.
Every strike it unleashed carried restraint, trying to avoid getting hit by Bai Ren's sword.
It avoided overcommitting, wary of exposing itself to another clean hit from the Saint-Grade blade.
After all, its injuries had yet to recover.
It didn't understand why, but it knew the sword possessed so kind of ability that prevented it from healing.
Still then, Half-Qilin was able to overwhelm the three of them.
The pressure was imnse.
Even blocking indirect shockwaves sent pain rippling through Bai Ren's arms and ridians despite having Saint-Grade Sword and multiple Heaven-Grade Artifacts equipped.
Blood seeped from his lips again and again as he forced himself to remain steady.
Behind him—Zhao Wujin and Yu Xuande were faring no better.
Their auras fluctuated violently, injuries worsening with each exchange.
Zhao Wujin's Qi was running low after using Heaven-Grade techniques so many tis, his face pale as death as he repeatedly reinforced suppression techniques just to slow the Half-Qilin for brief instants.
Yu Xuande also couldn't proactively help like before, as most of his Heaven-Grade defensive artifacts had been broken.
One more solid hit and he might as well die. Though he didn't stop supporting Bai Ren.
They were clearly suffering.
Yet—The Half-Qilin was not overwhelming them as it should have.
Each ti it pressed forward, Bai Ren was there.
The Saint-Grade Sword flashed again and again—with precise, relentless cuts.
Not all of them landed cleanly.
But every ti the blade bit into flesh—
The damage stayed.
Small wounds accumulated.
Shallow gashes refused to close.
Even when the Half-Qilin forcibly circulated its Qi to regenerate, the scars left by the sword resisted, disrupting the flow within its body.
Its breathing grew heavier.
Its aura, once vast and suffocating, began to waver.
The decline was subtle—
But undeniable.
The Half-Qilin realized it as well.
Its expression darkened with every failed regeneration.
Each injury dragged down its strength, little by little.
anwhile, Bai Ren was reaching his limits.
His movents slowed.
His grip tightened until his knuckles turned white.
Every swing sent tremors through his arms, but he did not stop.
He couldn't.
As long as he held the sword—
The Half-Qilin could not act freely.
That was the balance.
A fragile one.
The battlefield beca a war of attrition.
Bai Ren's group was battered, bleeding, barely holding together.
But the Half-Qilin was no longer invincible.
Its strength was steadily declining.
And for the first ti—
Ti was no longer on its side.
***
While Bai Ren and his group was taking care of Half-Qilin, an equally important and decisive battle was also taking place.
CLANG! CLANG!
"Looks like your Bai Clan has managed to acquire so troubleso artifact," Mó Zūn said.
What he had thought would be an easy victory was turning out to be far more difficult.
First, the inexplicable increase in the Bai Clan's strength.
Now, they even possessed a Saint-Grade Sword—one capable of permanently injuring the Half-Qilin.
This was no longer as favorable as he had anticipated.
Bai Chu laughed.
It was calm, steady, and filled with quiet confidence.
"You could say that we, the Bai Clan, have been blessed," Bai Chu said, glancing at Mó Zūn.
He then continued,
"But what I find more curious is this," he said, turning his gaze fully toward Mó Zūn.
"How did you manage to cooperate with the Half-Qilin?"
Silence!
The sounds of battle below filled the pause.
"You know," he went on, his voice calm but sharp,
"even if you sohow win here—if you truly manage to wipe us out—what then?"
He gestured subtly toward the Half-Qilin.
"Demonic Beasts do not build empires. They do not share territory."
His eyes locked onto Mó Zūn.
"In the end, you Demonic Cultivators would be killed as well!"
The air grew heavier.
Still, Mó Zūn said nothing.
Bai Chu exhaled softly, almost amused.
"So I truly don't understand," he said.
"Why help Demonic Beasts at all?"
"…"
Mó Zūn remained silent for a mont, then smirked.
"Bai Chu," he said slowly, his voice calm yet filled with absolute conviction,
"You don't know anything."
Bai Chu's eyes narrowed slightly.
Mó Zūn continued, his gaze cold and unwavering.
"You will die here," he said flatly.
"And after that—I will rebuild the Desolate Heaven Empire."
The words carried weight.
Not rage.
Not desperation.
But certainty.
Mó Zūn then glanced toward the distant battlefield, where the Half-Qilin roared as Bai Ren's Saint-Grade Sword carved yet another wound into its flesh.
"Hmph!"
He snorted.
"As for those beasts," Mó Zūn said dismissively, "you don't need to worry."
Mó Zūn's eyes glead faintly.
"After they finish killing you all," he said, "I will handle them myself."
Bai Chu stared at him, disbelief flickering in his eyes.
(Handle them… himself?)
His gaze instinctively shifted back toward the Half-Qilin.
A supre Demonic Beast.
A being whose body was tougher than even Heaven-Grade defensive artifacts.
A creature whose regeneration bordered on the absurd—capable of recovering from near-fatal injuries in monts.
Even now, only the Saint-Grade Sword was capable of leaving lasting wounds.
Without such a weapon—killing the Half-Qilin was virtually impossible.
Bai Chu's thoughts raced.
Even if it were him or Mó Zūn on the battlefield against the Half-Qilin, the chances of victory were pitiful.
Less than twenty percent.
And that was being generous.
Without a Saint-Grade Weapon suppressing its regeneration—
The odds dropped to almost zero.
So where was Mó Zūn getting this confidence?
Bai Chu looked back at him carefully.
Mó Zūn stood relaxed, hands clasped behind his back, his posture utterly unshaken by the chaos consuming the battlefield.
There was no bluff in his eyes.
(He's hiding sothing.)
Bai Chu thought grimly.
Bai Chu shook his head lightly.
"Well," he said, his tone suddenly firm, confidence unmistakable, "it doesn't matter."
What Mó Zūn planned to do with the Half-Qilin didn't matter.
Because Bai Chu had no intention of letting Mó Zūn leave this place alive.
"You won't win either way," Bai Chu declared.
Mó Zūn suddenly laughed.
It was loud, Filled with mockery.
"Won't win?"
He repeated, shaking his head.
"Bai Chu… your arrogance truly hasn't diminished one bit."
SLASH! SLASH!
Black demonic light tore through the air as Mó Zūn attacked again, his saber dancing with ruthless precision.
Each strike carried killing intent dense enough to chill the soul, forcing Bai Chu to respond imdiately.
Bai Chu's expression hardened.
His sword swept out, intercepting the blows head-on as shockwaves rippled outward, tearing the clouds apart.
"Arrogance?"
Bai Chu snorted coldly.
"You're the one dreaming if you think this ends well for you."
Mó Zūn smirked as their weapons clashed again, sparks exploding between them.
"You misunderstand," he said calmly. "I never said I could kill you."
Mó Zūn's smile widened.
"But just because I can't kill you…" he continued, his voice lowering, turning sharp and cruel, "doesn't an the sa applies to the rest of your Bai Clan."
Bai Chu's heart skipped a beat but didn't show on his face.
"Hmph! Mó Zūn, do you think my Bai Clan is so easy to kill? You should worry about your Demonic Cultivators being killed by them!"
Just then—
Boom!
Sowhere far away, a terrifying fluctuation erupted.
The heavens trembled.
Qi surged violently as an unfamiliar yet overwhelming aura burst forth, carrying with it a pressure that made even Immortals distracted.
Bai Chu turned his head toward the source.
"That technique…!"
It was the sa technique Bai Zihan had used before.
Yet this ti—It was even stronger.
And Bai Zihan was still only at the Spirit Severing Realm.
Across from him, Mó Zūn also paused.
His saber slowed mid-swing as he turned his gaze toward the distant battlefield, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"Another troubleso person," Mó Zūn said softly.
Then—
Mó Zūn stepped back half a pace, his eyes glinting with amusent.
"Bai Chu, I wonder," he continued casually, "whether you would still be able to remain this calm—"
His smile turned vicious.
"—after Bai Zihan is dead."
Bai Chu's pupils shrank violently.
In that instant, he turned his head.
On the side of Bai Zihan—
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Terrifying auras erupted one after another.
Demonic Qi surged into the sky like pillars of darkness.
One.
Two.
No.
More.
The oppressive pressure of multiple Great Ascension–level Demonic Cultivators flooded the battlefield from Bai Zihan's direction.
Bai Chu's blood ran cold. It seems like Demonic Cultivators was set on killing Bai Zihan today.
His eyes widened, shock and fury flashing across his face.
"You dare!"
Bai Chu roared, his killing intent erupting uncontrollably as he snapped his gaze back to Mó Zūn.
"If Bai Zihan is killed," he said, his voice trembling with suppressed rage, "I swear on my Dao—"
"I will hunt down every last Demonic Cultivator!"
"We will exterminate your sects, your bloodlines until nothing is left!"
The killing intent in his words was so dense that even the surrounding space trembled.
Mó Zūn burst out laughing.
"Hahaha!"
His laughter echoed across the battlefield, filled with ridicule.
"Go ahead," he said mockingly. "You can try."
He leaned forward slightly, eyes sharp and rciless.
"But if you do that," Mó Zūn continued coldly,
"do you really think the Bai Clan will survive?"
Bai Chu stood frozen, his chest rising and falling violently as he stared toward Bai Zihan's direction once more.
Multiple Great Ascension auras.
Even for Bai Zihan who managed to kill Grade-10 Demonic Beasts, it would be difficult for him to survive.
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